Til Dirt Do Us Part (A Local Foods Mystery) (22 page)

T
wo pork chops were broiling under a rub of olive oil, fresh rosemary, and garlic when the doorbell rang. Cam whirled. Who could that be? Whoever it was knocked several times.

“Who is it?” Cam called.

“It’s me,” Ruth’s voice called.

Cam flung the door open. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

Ruth raised a single eyebrow. “We arranged this. Right? We haven’t visited in a long time and all?”

“Oh! Would you believe I forgot?” Cam shook a rueful head. “I’m really sorry.”

Ruth sniffed. “As long as it’s dinner for two I smell, you are forgiven.” She extended a bottle of red wine with a smile.

“It is! Two pork chops are broiling, and I already baked a pan of Beauregard sweet potatoes. I can always extend the salad.”

“Pour me a glass of wine and explain why you’re making dinner for two for one.”

Cam laughed. “I already have a pinot noir open.” She slid a glass out of the stem holder under the cabinet and poured for Ruth. “I make extra so I don’t have to worry about cooking the next day. The life of a single person, you know.”

They exchanged cheers. Ruth took a sip.

“Wait. I thought you were going to confirm with me about your mom babysitting tonight,” Cam said. “That’s why I didn’t realize you were coming over.”

It was Ruth’s turn to smack her forehead. “Oh, yeah. I guess I’m the one who slipped up.”

“As Great-Aunt Marie used to say, ‘All’s well that ends well.’ ”

Ten minutes later, after they’d begun to eat, Ruth put down her fork.

“I’m a single person now, too. I mean, a single parent.”

“I wondered. Where did Frank go?”

“He took off about a month ago. Gone to play militia, I guess. I haven’t heard from him. And the girls miss him something terrible.”

Cam patted Ruth’s hand. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be. Our marriage had been on the rocks for a while, as you know. If I weren’t mopping up the kids’ tears, I’d be feeling pretty happy. I don’t even know what to tell them.”

“A tough assignment.” Cam grimaced. “What do you say?”

“Daddy’s on a trip, and I don’t know when he’ll be back. It’s the truth.”

“Have you tried to find him? You must have resources at the station.”

Ruth shook her head. “I’m letting it sit for now. Waiting to see how long he stays away. Could be forever.” She picked up her fork again.

“I can babysit now and then, if it would help. Those two would probably push me around something wicked, but it would be fun. You’d come home and find all three of us eating candy and jumping on the beds.”

“Thanks.” Ruth laughed. “I needed that image. Hey, sorry to put a damper on dinner. I haven’t really talked about this with anybody but my mom so far.”

“No problem. At least you have a mom you can talk about stuff with. Mine? I hear from her twice a year, and she never has any idea what’s going on in my life. And doesn’t really ask, either.” Cam shrugged. “But I’m used to it.” Cam gazed down the hallway. She caught sight of the locked cabinet and clapped her hand on her forehead. “The gun!”

“What gun?” Ruth drew her brows together.

Cam almost pushed her chair over rushing to the cabinet under the stairs. “Bev Montgomery threatened me with a gun at the Grog on Thursday.” She grabbed the key from where she’d left it next to a stair baluster and unlocked the cabinet.

“And you didn’t report this?” Ruth’s voice rose.

“Calm down, Sergeant. Bev was harmless, as it turned out, and Albert got a friend of hers to take her home. After I got the gun away from her, that is. I meant to call it in and just forgot.”

Cam showed Ruth the weapon where it still sat in safety. Ruth agreed to leave it there for now, under lock, and she’d fetch it the next time she was on shift.

They spent the next couple of hours eating, drinking, and catching up. Relaxing as if life were simple and things like violent death and disappearing husbands happened in an alternate universe.

After Ruth left, Cam washed the dishes, moving as she cleaned to a Brazilian CD Lucinda had given her. She had no idea what the lyrics were, but not knowing made the music itself more enjoyable. Not that she would have danced to it or anything else in public, but in the privacy of her own house, she didn’t mind trying out a little corporeal self-expression.

When her cell phone rang, she turned the sound down on the CD player and checked the ID. Bobby Burr. She dried her hands on a dish towel, threw it over her shoulder, and answered the phone.

“Cam? It’s Bobby. I’m outside your door. I called so I didn’t freak you out. Can I come in and talk to you?”

Cam checked the clock. Nine forty-five. Late, but not too late to see what was up with him.

“Sure.” She unlocked the door and welcomed him in. He looked somber but, in contrast to a week ago, well rested and as if he’d been showering and doing laundry regularly.

“Seems like déjà vu, sort of,” Cam said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you knock on my door last Saturday night? You know, the night after I saw you out in the field, when you got spooked and split.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I was freaking out.” He tilted his head in a “What can you do?” gesture, extending his hands to the sides and smiling. “I heard you talking to somebody, and I couldn’t handle it.”

“I was actually on the phone with an old friend. What’s going on?”

Bobby’s smile faded. “Sim’s missing.”

“Oh, dear.” Uh-oh. First, Bobby went missing, and now Sim. “Sit and tell me about it.” Cam gestured at the table. “Glass of wine?”

Bobby hesitated for a moment and then said, “Why not?” A smile toyed with his mouth but never quite arrived.

Cam poured a glass for each of them.

“So what do you mean, she’s missing?” She sat opposite him. “How long has she been gone?” She tried to think of the last time she’d seen Sim. It must have been Thursday, when she’d picked up the truck.

“We were supposed to get together tonight.” He took a sip. His hand shook, setting little waves going in his glass before he set it down. “I hung out at the Thirsty Whale for two hours, waiting for her. I went to her apartment. She’s not there. She doesn’t answer her phone.”

“Did you try her cell? Did you check the garage?”

“That
is
her cell. Us hipsters don’t have landlines, Cam.” He tried at a smile again, but sad eyes and down-sloping eyebrows canceled out the effect. “I went by the garage. She’s not there. I’m afraid she’s in trouble.”

“Why do you think she’s in trouble?”

“It’s just a feeling.”

“What happened after they called her in for questioning this morning? Did they keep her?”

He shook his head. “No. They didn’t have any reason to.”

As far as Cam was concerned, she didn’t know Sim well enough to know she wouldn’t kill anyone. But Bobby obviously had faith in her.

“She’s the one who suggested getting together tonight,” he said.

“Hey, I’m sure she’s fine,” Cam said. “She must have gone out with friends or something.”

“Maybe.” He drank down half his glass and stared into it.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it,” Bobby answered without looking up.

“Are you and Sim dating?” Cam shut her eyes at once, again putting her foot into it. What a delicate way to ask him. She reopened them to see Bobby looking straight at her and starting to laugh.

“No! Why would you—” He squinted at her. “Are you a little bit jealous?”

It was Cam’s turn to object, although maybe she was, a little. “You seem so worried about her, that’s all.”

“We’re buddies. We actually served in the navy together a few years ago. Most people don’t know about that. But it makes a superglue bond between you that never breaks.” He tilted his head, and his eyes flashed at Cam like the old Bobby was back. “Anyway, she prefers women. So there’s no threat there, Ms. Cam.”

The air felt supercharged, like the ions of lightning were about to break loose. Cam felt her cheeks pink up. She cleared her throat.

“So how’s your new job?”

Bobby threw her a look Cam couldn’t interpret. “It’s fine. It’s a job.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know if I hear from Sim.”

“You don’t think I need to report her missing?” he asked.

“I don’t think they would let you. Not until twenty-four hours have gone by. I read that somewhere. Plus, you’re not family. I’m not even sure you’d be allowed to after twenty-four hours.”

“That’s dumb.”

“I don’t think anything’s wrong. You’ll see. She’ll call you tomorrow and say she forgot or something.” Cam hoped she sounded more comforting than she felt. She had no idea if Sim was fine or not.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Bobby shook his head.

“To change the subject, is there going to be a service for Irene?”

He heaved a huge sigh. “Detective Pappas says they can’t release her body yet. And frankly? I don’t really care.”

“Did she have any other family?”

“Nope. She had a sister, who died years ago. I’m it. If you can call me family.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head again. “So I guess I should start figuring out what to do.”

“Did she go to any particular church?”

“Irene?” He snorted. “No way. This’ll be a one hundred percent secular deal, I can assure you.”

“If you need help, call me.” She didn’t know one thing about planning a funeral or, more realistically, a memorial service, but Great-Uncle Albert would. And how hard could it be?

“I appreciate it.” He stood. “Thanks for the wine, Cam, and for trying to reassure me about Sim. You have a good night.”

Cam walked him to the door and stepped out onto the porch as she said good night. She sniffed the clear night air, hoping it wasn’t frost she smelled. October 18 wasn’t too early for temperatures to dip below freezing, but she was pretty sure frost hadn’t been forecast for tonight. She leaned against the doorjamb. The grass, the barn, the perennial flower bed—all were bathed in a silvery light from a perfectly full moon high in the sky. She thought back to an article she’d read in the
Natural Farmer
about names for full moons. The harvest moon had been in September. She shivered. That lovely orb up there was the blood moon.

She hurried back in and locked the door. The light and warmth inside dispelled the ominous feeling that had come over her a minute before. She realized she still had the dish towel hanging over her shoulder and laughed at herself.
Nice look, Flaherty.
Thinking about Bobby, she used a corner of the towel to wipe the speckled Formica countertop. That moment of supercharged air was a little unsettling. Her life was complicated enough juggling Jake and Pete. She needed to be sure Bobby’s flirtations stayed in the distance, right where they belonged.

At least he wasn’t still in jail, although Pete had alluded to finding more evidence against him. Pete. She supposed not hearing from him for a whole day was a good thing. If Sim didn’t reappear tomorrow, Cam should probably let him know.

She yawned as she pushed the junk drawer closed. The day had been long and busy. She couldn’t wait to fall into bed, since tomorrow morning promised to be equally as busy. The drawer wouldn’t quite go in. She gave it another push. It was stuck somehow. She tugged it open and saw a slip of paper half caught between the drawer and the slider. She wiggled it loose and smoothed it out on the countertop.

Her eyes widened. It was the lost note. The threatening invitation to meet in the woods. So that was where it had gone. Some evil person hadn’t snuck in and taken it, after all.

Cam took it to the table and sat. She read it again.

A little bell rang in the back of her head. The writing looked familiar. Where had she seen it? She checked through her mental hard drive but came up with nothing. She yawned again. Her brain’s search engine was too tired for thinking. She’d fire it up again tomorrow and see what results she got. And tell Pete she’d found the note. She tucked it under the corner of the flower vase so it wouldn’t go traveling again.

T
he gong rang out, signaling the start of market. Cam locked the legs of her market table into place and set it upright. She was extremely, frantically, abysmally late. Not a great way to start her second appearance here. She snapped the market cloth over the table and started hauling buckets and baskets off the truck. She was arranging bags of cut mesclun when her basket of herbs plopped onto the table at her elbow. Cam looked up.

“Thought you might want some help.” Pete Pappas winked at her. “Should I continue unloading?”

“Um, sure.” She wanted to ask him what he was doing there. She wanted to hug him for helping, and maybe for other reasons, too. She wanted to grill him about Irene’s murder. She decided the wisest course was to just keep setting up.

An older woman in a denim skirt, striped socks, and hiking boots asked about the leeks. By the time Cam finished selling her a bunch of three, plus a bouquet of rudbeckias, nasturtiums, and asters, and two bundles of rosemary, Pete had unloaded the truck and was arranging buckets full of produce on the ground in front of the table.

“You are a godsend,” Cam said.

“Not really. I’d say I was a Pete-send.” He smiled as he stuck his hands in his back pockets. He wore jeans again, but they were clean and pressed, as was his tucked-in plaid shirt.

“Well, thank you. I was wicked late this morning.” She yawned. “Excuse me. Life’s catching up with me.” She eyed him. “Are you here detecting or shopping?”

“A little of both, I suppose. Any news from your world?”

“I’m not sure if you’ll count it as news, but Bobby Burr stopped by last night. He’s worried because Sim didn’t show up for a drink with him. A drink she had invited him to.”

Pete frowned. “He’s still a person of interest in the murder, you know. You might not want to be alone with him.”

“I suppose. But he doesn’t seem like a killer to me.”

“Famous last words, Cam. But why is he so concerned about being stood up for a drink?”

“Sim didn’t answer her cell, either. I doubt it’s anything, but I think everybody’s on edge. I know I’m kind of spooked with the killer still out there. ”

“I’m doing my best.”

“I’m sure you are. Speaking of that, he also told me that you, or somebody, questioned Sim yesterday morning. Do you really think she could have killed Irene?”

“As I said, I’m doing my best.”

Okay, don’t answer me.
Cam straightened the farm’s business cards on the table. “By the way, I found the note. Remember I said the tent guy had given me a piece of paper he’d found on the ground the day after the dinner?”

“Ah, the purported threatening letter.” He raised his thick eyebrows. “Where did you find it?”

“Not purported!” Cam frowned at him. When she saw the baker two tables down glance over at her, she lowered her voice. “Late last night I found it stuck in a drawer.”

“I’d like to see it. Although it’ll be no good as far as physical evidence goes. What did it say?”

“It said something about meeting in the woods, or the writer would tell all. I’m happy to turn it over.”

“I’ll call you later about picking it up.” He surveyed the crowd, whistling a tune Cam couldn’t recognize. Without looking at her, he said, “I enjoyed our walk on Friday. It was nice to get out. With you, I mean.”

“I did, too,” she said in a soft voice.

This week’s musicians were setting up near the market manager’s table, which sat in front of the old tannery building, now a successful mini-mall housing local businesses. A woman tuned an electric guitar, another fiddled with the drum set, and a third did a mike check. All three wore skirts of varying lengths with cowboy boots.

Pete stayed at Cam’s side as she sold kabocha and Hubbard squash, explained that the leaves at the ends of the Brussels sprout stalks were tasty and sweet when stir-fried, offered recipes for kale chips and shallot-pepper jelly.

“Shouldn’t you be out dusting for fingerprints somewhere?” Cam leaned sideways toward Pete, then wondered if he’d think she was trying to get rid of him. Foot in mouth, as usual.

“That’s what the crime-scene techs do. Not part of my job description, thank goodness. I prefer to use zee leettle gray cells, you know.” He pointed at his head.

Cam laughed. She’d had a frantic morning—waking up late, scrambling to get the harvest together and loaded onto the truck, racing over to Newburyport—but all seemed well with her world now.

“Cells that need to be fed. I’ll be right back.” Pete strolled toward the baker.

Cam was smiling, watching him buy pastries, when Jake walked up from the opposite direction. He followed her eyes. Uh-oh. Here was trouble.

“Morning, Cam.” He loomed in front of her, not smiling at all.

“Good morning, Jake. How are you?” She didn’t trust herself to say more.

He took a deep breath. “It’s a lovely day.” He mustered a smile. “Who is your friend?” He raised his eyebrows in Pete’s direction.

“You must remember Detective Pappas?”

Jake’s frown suddenly registered recognition. “Now that you mention it. He looks different.”

“It’s a Sunday.” Pete looked different to her, too. But did he really? Or was it because he was relaxed and kind of flirtatious with her?

Pete strolled back toward Cam’s table, carrying two coffees and a white bag with the bakery logo on it. He checked out the other tables and exchanged what looked like pleasantries with several vendors. He arrived at Cam’s spot as he smiled at the Herb Farmacy vendor across the aisle. He set the food down and finally looked up.

“Ah, Mr. Ericsson. Pete Pappas.” He smiled and extended his hand to Jake. “I’m not sure we actually met last spring, but without you Cam’s attacker might have eluded us.”

Cam held her breath. She had no idea if Jake was going to be civil, turn icy, or explode. She’d promised to give him one more chance. This had suddenly turned into the test for that. It struck her, though, that it was more like the alpha males circling each other for the reward of the female. In the wild, Pete wouldn’t stand a chance. Jake was almost a foot taller and weighed perhaps twice as much. But here wily Pete had offset the physical challenge with a compliment that had to arise from feeling secure in his position. What had she gotten herself into?

“Call me Jake.” The chef extended his hand and cleared his throat. “How’s the investigation coming along?”

Touché,
Cam thought.
Point to Jake.

“Slowly but surely.” Pete smiled, but it didn’t include his eyes.

Jake lifted his empty cloth bags with one hand. “I’ll be off. Lot of tourists in town this weekend, leaf peeping. It’s going to be a busy day at the kitchen. Enjoy your breakfast.” He leaned over and brushed his lips on Cam’s cheek. “See you tomorrow night.”

“Nice to meet you, finally, Jake.” Pete lifted his cardboard cup of coffee in farewell.

Cam glanced sideways at Pete, but he was peering into the pastry bag and didn’t seem to react to the kiss. As far as she could tell.

The market was nearly at its end. After Pete had finished his coffee and pastry, he’d said good-bye, promising to call her later about picking up the note. Now Cam’s table was almost empty, as were the buckets that had held the kale and flowers. She stacked a couple of empty baskets and was stowing them in the truck behind her when someone called her name. She turned.

“Yo, Cam. Looks like I’m almost too late to do my shopping.” Sim stood in front of the table, dressed as usual in all black.

“Sim! You’re all right.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She frowned and crossed her arms.

“Bobby said you stood him up for a drink yesterday and you weren’t answering your cell last night. He was really worried.”

“He’s one silly dude. I got a last-minute invite to fill in at a hot gig with my friend Elizabeth. You probably saw the posters all over town for Elizabeth Lorrey and the Rafters.”

Cam shook her head. Keeping up on the current music scene wasn’t part of her life anymore.

“Their drummer got the flu. So I had to head over to the Firehouse and rehearse with them beforehand. I totally forgot to call Bobby.”

“He’ll be glad you’re fine.” Cam straightened the last remaining bunch of leeks. “He did say you were questioned yesterday morning. How’d that go?”

She rolled her eyes. “They have nothing. Maybe they think I’m going to change my story and confess or something. To what? Knocking off an obnoxious woman? Sheesh. There’d be nothing in it for me. I’d lose a customer with an expensive car.”

Cam wondered if she was telling the truth. And wondered what Pete knew about Sim that he wasn’t telling her.

“And imagine how many murders there would be if all the obnoxious women got popped. Heck, I wouldn’t even be here anymore.” She flashed a wicked grin as she hefted the leeks.

Cam laughed a little nervously. “Well, anyway, give Bobby a call, would you?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you a question all week,” Cam said. “Were you at the Middleford Fair last Wednesday? I thought I saw your motorcycle heading up Route One.”

“Not me.” She waved the leeks. “How much are these, and what do I do with them?”